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KING OF THE SCYTHE AND SWORD // thief - Printable Version

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KING OF THE SCYTHE AND SWORD // thief - mars. - 12-11-2020

Branded upon fractured recall days lost, ash and dust against caged tongue, broken facades reconstructed with distinct lack of care, known the first instance broached heat touched walls. There had been no gentle guidance, misplaced such naive want as to tutelage that may impart desired knowledge and not aching scars against soft heart, harsh each in turn. Yet imparted had they been, pressed into mind that barely held them as the months gathered, become years he kept no track of, known the searing illumination given by flowing magma.

Harsh metal and leather against scar laden flesh, buckle fastened with a loud clamour. Rudimentary the craft, unnecessary anything more than the solid mass, no joint present, unlike than the paw that glided along harness for it was meant only to ease his work. Against stone rounded til thudded with a reigning note, ignored for he had grown accustomed, swept up deposited parsal. Together contents clacked, fresh ore awaiting his experienced hand to change it from such useless base form.

There was no chance for such, however, his traversal of the forge interrupted, unyielding stone struck, few but noticeable the brief spark. Free his mind of worry, an intruder he was well equipped to handle without aid, this Dylluan know not to be such. Deposited his load and about did he turn, observed the alcoves housing hanging lanterns, little their use but still employed for other reason beyond a source of light, one swinging upon lengthy chain. Watched the path it followed for a moment, closer Dylluan stepping as he tried to look beyond the glare. Already absconded the one responsible, knowledge of this only acquired as his search was ended, to his task once more turning.

Miniscule the beast, had not the tail that slide along the ground as though imbued with a life its own no longer it than one of his own legs, squat to a point belly pressed to the ground. Proven this was not the case as it rose, protective the stance over top of pilfered ore bag. Try as he might, though little did he try, stifling his mirth proved futile, loud the laughter that echoed off the walls. "Come now, little drake, ya won't find nuthin good in that there bag." Hushed the deep drawl that passed upward curled lips, unexpected a response of any ilk that may pass as his soothing remark.

And none was forthcoming, together teeth coming in a sharp clack, hiss bypassing the twist of a snarl. A stalemate had they supposedly reached. Bound Dylluan to not act in manner that may harm the drake, though annoyance made hard the unwavering gaze he levelled upon it. Still and silent now the drake in turn, claimed the prize it clutched in tiny talons, unwilling to allow retreat from non-existent confrontation.
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such a daring disguise, look me dead in the eyes and cry when every stare has you gasping for air. won't you tell me why you're here, there's blood in the bag leaking love isn't fair, you can crawl back from where you came because I don't hear you the same
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code by Wisker